


catharsis

by vestaminerva



Series: taekai (taemin & jongin) [2]
Category: EXO (Band), SHINee, SuperM (Korea Band)
Genre: Angst, Art, Body Horror, Death, Horror, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mental Health problems, Mental Instability, Mentioned Lee Jinki | Onew, Painting, Psychological Horror, Singer Lee Taemin, artist taemin, kim jongin is a psycho, model lee taemin, painter kim jongin, taekai - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:40:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26952295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vestaminerva/pseuds/vestaminerva
Summary: jongin was determined to create his masterpiece, his muse, lee taemin.
Relationships: Kim Jongin | Kai/Lee Taemin
Series: taekai (taemin & jongin) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1807045
Kudos: 5





	catharsis

**Author's Note:**

> please read tags & warnings then maybe consider reading this shit  
> can be read as a standalone

relieving of strong, repressed emotional tensions through certain kinds of art.

kim jongin thought painting was his catharsis.

it was just art really, as plain as it sounds. he has lived with painting as long as he can remember. since that deadly moment when he created an astonishingly vivid illustration of one committing suicide, he knew his art would be greatly treasured. 

and painting, it is simply the most beautiful moment in life. or more like it was.

he doesn't feel it anymore, the euphoric excitement that goes by the rhythm of every brush stroke, the never-ending dialogue between the artist and the canvas. the monochrome on the tip of his hand so weak it no longer manages to leave a mark strong enough and satisfy him.

he needs, no, craves for something more, something even more lively and beautiful. his art is dying and it is the worst feeling in this world. he used to feel so fucking alive, he has to feel that burning passion again, or he swears he will break. 

kim jongin was, how would you dare to put it,

a very painful artist. he has always been.

the blank canvas in front of him feels like going through his soul. jongin’s movements are excruciating as he begins, desperate. for a brief moment as he is smothering down with pitch black, he thinks he is acquainted with the warmth he once felt, one that was like a dream. nevertheless, the softness soon turns into nightmare, scarring his deathly art.

he desires something, so much more. just like when he imagined his other self leaving, painting the death of him all pretty. 

and right before desperation has the chance to raise its ugly finger and point it at the painter, that's when jongin saw him: the talented lee taemin, a delicious young model, artist and dancer. and never has he ever fancied something so much in his life than taemin when he landed his eyes on the boy. it struck him like lightning - the loss in his art belonged to this fragile creature. the dancer is extremely subtle, must be something about the way the man walks, he moves like the melancholic megastar he is and it thrills jongin in incredible ways. he can't breathe properly, the thought suffocating in the back of his throat and it all feels almost too amazing to be true.

with taemin's ageless beauty and jongin's art, he has an incredible idea of how they can contain everything. they will be perfect, as they are now. they could create their own utopia of art, the ideal one of love and death.

taemin lifts his hands a bit at the others command. it's been hours and he is starting to feel it, body protesting to the harshness it was being put through. the muscles on his arms were starting to numb, back arched in a way that should be illegal, feet twisted like the ones of a ballerina's. the pose he's in is obtrusive, just how jongin likes: jongin loves the shock of unnatural, painful, twisted in provocative positions. he also loves how taemin was very skinny, his bones showing in an anorexic way. emaciated, iron flat. jongin reaches up for a moment, touching the hip bone sticking out. the beautiful, bruising violet on his skin mesmerizes him to the soul. 

it's another hour of them doing this until taemin nears the point of breaking. he is frozen, mouth unable to form words let alone sentences, just breaths starting to sound heavy, sheen of glistening sweat covering his forehead. jongin barely notices, too involved in the vortex of novelty, eyes burning with raw passion. this is new, this is amazing, just a tiny bit more-

the affectionate whisper of "don't move, just a little bit more, baby" reverberates in his studio.

it's the sound of taemin chocking on a sob that has jongin snapping out of his masterpiece. the model regains his composure rather quickly, and before he knows it himself he's back in the painfully wrong pose again, shaking and shivering lightly. jongin's studio has always been cold, but on this particular night the cold air against his bare skin felt absolutely freezing. in the blink of an eye jongin is only millimetres away from his face, warm breath hitting against taemin's cheek, a pleasant contrast to the cold room. what terrifies him the most though is how he doesn't recall when the painter had moved this close and this fast. he feels rough, big hands on his torso again, oh he could recognize those hands anywhere, carefully fixing his posture. he doesn't dare to move, never knowing what could set the younger off.

to jongin, taemin seems to be showing indolence, almost as if slacking off. the model used to be so quiet and concentrated - one of the many reasons he loved working with taemin: never a single word of complaint falling past his lips, staying perfectly still in the same pose. he doesn't think of how taemin could simply be tired, hungry or even cold, never once the opportunity crossing his mind that his lover might be breaking, at his wit's end. the fatal coldness lingering in the air also went unnoticed by jongin, feeling so fucking alive. taemin was dashing, naturally so white and perfect, skin too beautiful and fragile.

"what do you think you’re doing?" voice thick with malice, jongin reaches for the delicate, ever vulnerable model and twists his arm too hard, eliciting a pure cry from taemin. 

"jongin! stop it, that hurts!"

jongin twitches. he has never seen someone so perfect in his life. so why is it that he can't do this simple pose for him, like he has done so far? watching the deathly cadaverous covering taemin's milky skin and protruding collarbones has the tips of his fingers burning, pressing harder against taemin’s wrist. he glances back at his unfinished painting and feels hatred beginning to form. this is something he has to immortalize, and not just with his own imagination.

he wanted to commit to it, every part of his beauty to memory, recall this moment, this captivating want against his skin.

sensing the rapid change in jongin’s mood has taemin dropping his pose altogether out of shock, sitting down on the old couch behind him. he knows that's the last thing he should have done, but the vile sinister growing in the painter's eyes paralyzed him. taemin stared back, straight in the eye. he faltered at the sight of jongin chuckling, throwing his head back, drunk in the sensation. then, a moment of silence and the other was bewitching very precisely, waiting for the moment his prey made the last mistake falling into the tiger's den, the point where there was no going back. and the tiger was starving.

the same, rough hand was on his skin again, forcefully lifting his bony chin up.

"you should see yourself. don’t fucking think i don’t know you, you go all offensive on me only to fall apart like this"

taemin could never in his life deny the fact that jongin happened to be a very attractive man. catchy eyes, velvety lips, smooth skin yet still tough features and fitting, sharp eyebrows framing his face. he had fallen for this man, and that’s where it all begun. that's why they were together in the first point.   
  
they both held something so special hidden within themselves, it had clicked almost instantly. as time went by memories developed, love and lust grew. they discovered painting on their very first date, exploring their capabilities and abilities. it worked like narcotic, expect in a way more addicting manner and felt so much better than any cocaine the artist had ever used in his life.

jongin usually steered clear from drugs. he has met quite a handful of addicts, the perfect illustration being this one canadian. he can never forget how the addict had looked: charming, fascinatingly dangerous in the club. then, a lot more gaunt in the daylight, the awfully greyish tint to his skin, the dark circles underneath the bloodshot eyes.

jongin doesn't know when taemin had left. one last look at the sketch on the stance, and he’s walking to the bathroom.

it's late at night on the same day, when taemin comes crawling back to jongin, or was it the other way around - that he doesn't know. the seductive lure is back in his voice, tries to wrap itself around jongin and pull him in. he feels like vomiting even though it has been over twenty hours since he last ate anything. he hasn’t slept either, the thought of the unfinished painting preoccupying his mind along with taemin. 

taemin. there the said male is leaning against the sink of the studio's bathroom, white towel loosely wrapped around his waist, right in front of him bare, pale back on show just for jongin to see, fluffy blonde hair tempting. inviting. taemin has always been easy on the eyes, appealing.

he feels something twisting into knots in his stomach, watching the older breathe, tiny shoulders slumping, moving along with exhales as lovely as always. the kitchen knife he's holding burns against his hand. its an urge, a sudden want dancing inside his veins that's telling him to move forward. sensing the shuffling behind him, taemin turns around, gently pondering at jongin. 

the corner of his lips pulling upwards, taemin glides his tongue over his teeth.

"jinki-hyung has this one exhibition in a few days" the blonde then says, testing the waters ever so carefully.

jongin acknowledges, humming, eyes resting heavy on the column of the other's throat. 

"do you think we could go?" taemin asks sluggishly, and it's almost too quiet to hear. his voice reaches a risky step closer, breaks jongin's bubble. it’s a bold move but taemin doesn’t seem to mind that too much.

"sure" jongin's mouth is chapped, throat closed and hard to swallow. 

smirking spiteful, taemin turns back to the mirror, backside once again on display for jongin. 

it doesn't take that much more to touch. taemin knows the effect his body has on jongin and just how it affects the other. he missed this so much, feeling jongin's breath ghosting against his nape, taemin looks into the mirror again and catches a glimpse of the painter’s eyes, full of passion and desire behind his body. jongin glares, sees the way taemin's eyes widen, pupils darkening. something inside of him snaps, fingers lingering on skin before he shoves the knife into his lover's back with all his might, vision blank. taemin's words get stuck on his throat, shock evident on his pretty face. the model is trembling, looking at the tip of the kitchen knife poking through his rib cage. taemin's mouth fills up with the salty taste of iron as he starts violently coughing up, so nicely crimson blood. taemin feels the warmth seeping down his body as jongin watches intently the drops dripping down all the way to his navel. 

jongin doesn't mind the lifeless corpse hitting furniture on the way as he drags it, neither the blood smothering the floor of his studio. he doesn't mind at all the cracking of bones as he lifts taemin's wrist, carefully puts his leg in the right place. unnaturally twisted, provocative - to jongin's will. quiet and concentrated, perfectly still just how a model should be. he doesn’t think he could ever find one as good as taemin is.

he feels the perfect purification, so relieving and exactly what he has been dying to look for. the euphoric excitement is back better than ever as he glides the brush over the canvas, outlining the hollow, blaming eyes of taemin. the unnaturally twisted ankle, the rich blood covering his torso, the disturbing hole in the middle of his chest to anyone else. the white hair against the crimson red, a contrast.

he moves the hair out of taemin’s eyes and is ensured for the last time, he will never get someone as beautiful ever again.


End file.
